Page 25 of Lawless Rivals

Her pale face flushes. “I wasn’t eager…”

“Answer the question.”

She exhales, and for a second, I think she’ll admit it. But she just glares at me, chest rising with angry, uneven breaths.

“Thought as much.” I step outside where dawn hasn’t quite committed to the sky over Black Heath yet.

Stood on the porch, I inhale deeply and exhale a wintry white breath before stuffing my feet into cold work boots, not caring to lace them.

Damn that woman has my blood boiling.

The wind is bitter enough to freeze my bollocks off, and despite the drop in temperature, heat flares inside me. Not the good sort of warmth either. This is way out of my comfort zone.

After her little fireside story, she finished her drink and drifted straight to sleep right in front of me. I’d thought about carrying her to my bed and shutting the door tight.

I even stood up to do it.

But the alcohol buzzing through my bloodstream tugged me another way. I grabbed the fleecy blanket off the back of the sofa, draped it over her and stretched out on the couch.

She looked peaceful. Pretty, too.

But that tale she offloaded about her first pony told me more than she realizes.

Keira Harrington was raised to believe everything is replaceable.

Pets.

People.

Partners.

Loss doesn’t matter because her father will always buy a newer model, a shinier version, a distraction to stop her from noticing what she’s actually missing.

She thinks she’s nothing like that fucker. But Alasdair Harrington molded her into a carbon copy of himself.

A polished daughter who’s primed to pretend she doesn’t feel a damn thing about anyone, or anything… including my land.

The storm’s long passed and mist clings low to the far-off fields. I cross the yard toward Dane’s Escort, the cold biting at the back of my neck.

Dane lifts his chin and exhales a lungful of cigarette smoke. “Ready to rock n’ roll?”

“Always,” I say, opening the passenger door. “Get one of the lads to sweep the south fences. Make sure there aren’t any fallen trees.”

“Rafe and Shay took the quad bikes out half an hour ago.” Dane turns the ignition, cigarette dangling from his lips, and slams his foot on the gas. “They’ll fix any damage.”

Outside the car, the world is still caught in that twilight blue haze where time slows.

The windows are fogged and the fan blows out hot air while the engine rumbles in the early stillness.

Dane glances at me, eyes narrowed in the half-light.

“The buyer said he’d meet us at the usual place.” He cracks his window lower and tosses the butt. “Claims he’s got information about a potential hit on one of our bookies. Says it’s serious.”

I sit deeper in the seat, pulse still unsettled from leaving Keira in my cabin. The hayloft would’ve been less of a hassle.

My family owns a handful of bookmakers scattered across the South, cash-heavy and always busy, the perfect way to launder money and keep a finger on the throat of every racetrack within fifty miles.

Bloodstock is the respectable face. The real profit moves inside bets, favors, transport routes, and men who never put their names on invoices.